here.”
“But this isn’t my car, and I can’t drive.”
“Where is the owner?”
“In there,” pointing to the store. “She’ll be out in just a minute. I think she went in to buy—oranges.”
“Well, if she isn’t out by the time I come around again, she gets a tag; and that’s flat!”
Wrathfully the officer strode on, and Katharine sank back comfortably against the cushions again. Five minutes passed; ten; and still no signs of Patricia. Katharine began to fidget nervously and wish she had gone into the store with the girls. Still, if she had, the car would have been tagged at once; even now perhaps she could stave the man off again if he came around before Pat got back.
There he was, striding along as if he meant business! “I wish Pat and her oranges were in Hades,” thought Katharine, preparing to smile sweetly at the irate officer.
“She hasn’t come yet,” she said, leaning out of the window and speaking confidentially. “Something must have happened to her. I’m so worried. What ought I to do, do you think?”
Momentarily disarmed by the unexpected greeting, the man removed his hat and scratched his head. Then suddenly realizing that he was being worked, he snapped:
“What could happen to her except that, like all other women, she has no notion of time! This car’s been here half an hour now. I suppose she can’t read either!”
“It’s been here only twenty-five minutes, officer,” corrected Katharine, showing him her watch.
“So you can tell time, even though you can’t read,” commented the officer, rather admiring the girl’s poise despite his annoyance.
“Well, you see,” began Katharine, resting both arms on the opened window, “when I was a little girl—(if I can only keep him interested until Pat comes!)—I was—” She broke off to gesticulate madly to her friends who were just coming out of the store.
The policeman wheeled sharply and saw three girls racing madly toward him. Just as Pat reached the car, the bag she was carrying broke, and a dozen oranges rolled in all directions.
“There!” cried Katharine triumphantly. “Didn’t I tell you she just went in to get some oranges?”
What could the man do but help gather up the fruit and toss it into the car? Scarlet with exertion and embarrassment at the comments of passers-by, he finally faced Patricia sternly.
“Lady, you’ve been parked here half an hour, right under that sign. Can’t you read either?”
“Why, yes, a little,” replied Patricia, with a suspicious glance at Katharine. “But those signs are placed so high that if you’re in a low car, you really have an awful time seeing them at all. You can see for yourself that this one is directly over the top of the car. Get in and see.”
“Of course it is if you drive directly under it!” grumbled the man. “And the next time I see this car where it doesn’t belong, it gets a tag right away; whether your passengers can’t read, or you think the signs are too high, or—or anything else.”
“Thanks for your patience, and assistance,” replied Patricia, smiling at him in such a friendly fashion that he had a hard time maintaining his expression of outraged dignity. He was still a bit doubtful as to whether or not the girls were making fun of him. These women!
“Goodbye,” called the irrepressible Katharine, as Patricia stepped into the car and started the engine. “Hope I meet you again sometime.”
The officer strode away without comment, while Katharine reported her encounter to the girls.
“I’m an absolute wreck!” she declared in an injured tone, as her companions laughed heartlessly. “I’ll never keep car for you again.”
“Your own choice,” retorted Patricia flippantly. “We wanted you to come with us.”
“That’s all the thanks I get,” sighed Katharine, “for risking my life to protect your property.”
“Policeman, spare this car; touch not an ancient wheel!” giggled Anne.
“In youth it carried me,” continued Jane.
“And I’ll protect it now,” carolled the three.
“I’ve a good mind to dump you all out,” declared Patricia in mock indignation. “I know it’s not exactly a latest model, but it really isn’t so ancient as all that.”
“Never mind, Patsy,” said Katharine. “We’ll ride in it, even if it is old.”
“There’s where we’re going this afternoon,” remarked Patricia a few minutes later, pointing down a side street; “you can see the baseball park from here.”
Long before the game started, they were in their seats watching the crowds pour into the stands.
Patricia, who sat beside Craig, soon noticed that he was scanning faces with more than casual interest. When he pulled out a pair of opera glasses with which to view the opposite stands, her curiosity got the better of her.
“Looking for someone special?” she inquired, making pleats in her handkerchief.
“Yes.” He moved closer, put his head down, and spoke softly. “We got a tip that the principal in the Brock affair might be around here, and my chief sent me out to see what I could pick up. Keep it under your hat, though.”
“Of course,” breathed Patricia, quivering with excitement.
“Come home to dinner with us?” asked Patricia, when the game was over and they were headed for the parking station.
Craig shook his head. “Like to a lot, but I want to look around a bit more tonight; so I’ll eat in a one-arm lunch that I know about where perhaps I’ll overhear something. Thanks a lot.”
“If you’d care to come, suppose you make it tomorrow instead. We have dinner at one on Sundays.”
“I’ll be glad to come then.”
“Any luck?” Patricia inquired, as she met Craig in the hall of her own home the next noon.
“Not a bit,” looking so dejected that Patricia could hardly keep from smiling.
“Too bad; but don’t be quite so downcast.”
“Good advice; perhaps I’ll run across something on the train. You get into a conversation with strangers, and oftentimes a clew slips out.”
Dinner was a hilarious affair. Craig exerted himself to be entertaining, and Katharine had a silly streak which kept the company in gales of laughter.
“Hate to break away,” said Craig, looking at his watch after they finished their coffee before the fireplace in the living room.
The day had turned cool, and a wood fire was very welcome. “This is awfully cozy,” he went on; “but my train goes in twenty minutes.”
